Adele Parks - Young Wives Tales

ADELE PARKS

MICHAEL JOSEPH

an imprint of

PENGUIN BOOKS

MICHAEL JOSEPH

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First published 2007
1

Copyright Adele Parks, 2007

The moral right of the author has been asserted

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book

EISBN: 9780141900728

For Jim

I close the door with a little too much force; the slam reverberates throughout the house. In the instant that the bang disappears I notice the emptiness. A void. Silence. I consider shouting Hellobut I know there is no one to answer. The blankness shouldnt be a surprise. This is the third September I have returned to an empty home after a long summer break and noticed the all-consuming silence. The calm is partly a relief, partly heartbreaking. This year the hush is particularly distressing because I did not have to cajole, bribe, beg or threaten my boys to get them to surrender their vice-like grips at the school gate. This year, Sebastian ran into the playground without so much as a backward glance, let alone a kiss goodbye, and even Henry (normally the most openly affectionate twin) was only prepared to wave at me. From a distance.

Havent I done a marvellous job? Excellent. Wonderful. I should be congratulated. I have produced confident, independent and secure boys. Well done me.

I think Im going to cry.

I briefly consider pouring myself a glass of whisky. But dismiss the silly idea because in reality the only spirit in my cupboard is cooking sherry. I could have a glass of wine. I think theres half a bottle of Chablis in the fridge but I content myself with putting on the kettle. Strong coffee is the more sensible choice and Im famed for my sensible nature.

The phone rings; its cheerful tring is a Red Cross parcel. I pick up hastily and gratefully.

Its me.

Me, in this case, is Connie, one of my best and oldest friends. She sounds tearful and I remember that its her eldest daughters first day at school.

How was Frans drop-off?

OK,she mutters; she doesnt sound convinced. She looked amazing. The uniform is so cute. But

But?I prompt.

Is it usual for them to cling to your leg and sob? I couldnt pry her off; she was like a tiny monkey. She kept begging to come home with Flora and me. She even offered to tidy up her Barbies thats unprecedented.Connie is trying to laugh but Im not fooled.

Very usual,I assure her. Do you fancy a coffee?

I want vodka, but Ill settle for coffee. Ill be with you in five. Im just around the corner.

If I round up, Connie and I have known each other for nearly twenty years, which is phenomenal and unbelievable. To have known someone that long must mean Im a fully fledged adult, and digesting that fact requires a mountain of sugar, not a teaspoon. We originally met through my sister, Daisy. Daisy and Connie went to university together; they were very tight. Connie and I have only become particularly friendly in the last five or six years. We both have kids and, sadly, Daisy doesnt. Ive found that kids pull you towards women that you would never have considered being friends with if you didnt have children in common its one of the perks of the job. Besides, Connie was very kind to me when my husband left me for one of our mutual friends.

The situation was officially ugly.

Connie was a great pal of Lucy, the mistress, but despite that shes managed to walk a diplomatic line and remain friends with both of us. Sometimes, I think I should have demanded that Connie take a more moralistic stance. I should have asked her to spurn her old buddy and my deceiving ex but I couldnt risk it. Friends were thin on the ground at the time and so few people are prepared to see the world in black and white. Extremism isnt fashionable. Not even extremely nice. People who are extremely nice are mistrusted or taken advantage of. Believe me, Im talking from experience. So, I make do with knowing that Connie is a great friend to me and I ignore the fact that shes a great friend to Lucy as well.

Since Peter left, Ive battled with every instinct when talking to Connie and somehow Ive trained myself to make only casual, polite enquiries about Peter and Lucy. I do not allow myself the indulgence of ridiculing or vilifying them, which would embarrass and compromise her. I limit myself to the type of enquiry one makes after an old work colleague two people might have in common civil, distant, even a little distracted and I glean the occasional piece of choice information using this covert method.

Sometimes, in the early days, I couldnt help myself; little bits of pain or grief would eke out however tightly I tried to guard my feelings and Id mention Peters name. I might have moaned about him or admitted I missed him. Yet I did this with the absolute certainty that I could trust Connie. Shed never, ever repeat to Lucy anything I say about him. This is a remarkable feat of self-restraint for anyone, but for Connie its a breathtaking tribute to our friendship. Connie isnt discreet and it must kill her to keep mum. Ive never allowed myself to reveal my true feelings about Lucy at all. The thing is I dont have the vocab I dont like using expletives.

I dont worry that Lucy talks about me to Connie. I know that if she does Connie will be loyal and supportive of me, but I cant imagine the scenario ever arising. I dont think Ive ever entered Lucys consciousness, not even when she was eating Sunday roast at my house and giving my husband a quick blow-job in our cloakroom before I served up the pudding and coffee. She was always too busy giving literal meaning to the words Lets take an intercourse breakto think about me. Im not glamorous enough to rank among her friends and Im not rich enough to be her client. Therefore, I am beneath her notice.

True to her word, Connie arrives at my house within moments. I open the door and see that shes fighting tears.

There is something worse than them clinging to your leg and begging you not to leave, you know,I comment.

Connie plonks Flora, her youngest, on the kitchen floor and sits on a bar stool; she reaches for the biscuit tin.

Whats worse?

Sebastian and Henry literally skipped away from me this morning. Not so much as a casual endearment flung my way.

As Id hoped, Connie puts aside her own upset and grins sympathetically. I saw them in the playground, they did seem really settled. Running around like crazy. I think it was a good idea to stagger the drop-off on the first day so it wasnt too overwhelming for the new starters.